#vicioushope

@vicioushope 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: " i assume that the rumors surrounding you are all false and unrelated to why you're bleeding out on my sofa? "

               𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝙽 𝙹𝚈𝙽’𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙻𝚈 ,  han solo turned away to scowl up at the ceiling.

❝just thought your sofa might need some redecorating, so here i am.❞  solo waved his good arm, the action halting and cut short with a hiss.  shavit—was he still bleeding?  jaw set taut, he rolled his shoulders, finally working off the soaked fabric that seemed adhered to his skin, sliding it down his biceps until it gathered at his elbows.  ❝y’know i like to accessorize with red.  adds contrast—and character.❞

jokes aside, he’d made it out alive, hadn’t he?  han flexed his fingers and winced at the discomfort lancing up his side.  injuries had long ago become the norm for him, and he was no stranger to pain, but… come to think of it, han couldn’t recall the last time he came across a sleemo whose skill with a blaster perhaps rivaled his own.  the slimy bastard had intercepted him while crossing the docks, emerging from between a stack of crates before demonstrating one hell of a quick draw.  it would’ve fetched him a genuine compliment if he didn’t immediately level the blaster at han’s center mass, like this was a stickup and han wasn’t the type of man who’d shoot first and ask questions later.

❝so, rumors, huh?  dunno ’bout that, but y’know how it is.  people love to talk; they make me sound more exciting than i actually am.❞  with his head still spinning and his shoulder burning something fierce, han slanted a sideways grin at a face he hadn’t seen in over a year.  ❝you keepin’ tabs on me?❞

he should’ve taken the guy more seriously though, especially after his furious spluttering about a botched job and lost credits, that it was han’s fault his sweetheart had left him high and dry.  it all painted a picture han was pretty sure he had nothing to do with.  regardless, it’d been mistake to try reasoning with a nova-happy kreetle clearly off his repulsors.  as for his final mistake?  well, in hindsight, han reckoned that telling the guy to go frink himself was probably not the best way to deescalate the situation, but how could he have known the bastard had brought muscle with him?  like a mynock out of hell, the gran dropped in fast, closing the distance between them and nailing han square in the face, leaving him stunned and disoriented.

    memory blurred beyond that point.    han only vaguely recalled spotting a prybar and the stark flash of a vibroblade powering on in the dark; his own startled shouts of pain amid the thunderous drumming of his heart, and an additional mix of voices, lost somewhere in the commotion…  han shut his eyes and shook his head, letting a breath go slowly before he tugged at the rest of his dirtied clothes with sudden haste.

 they could chat about what happened later, preferably after he plugged what bloody holes now littered his body.

he leans down just enough to meet her eyes. cass was a liar by trade and by nature, but he put the truth in his eyes and trusted that she would understand it. "we will meet each other." unless he falls ensuring she got to the ship, but she could be angry with him when he was dead. he wouldn't care. as long as she gets on the ship, he has done what he can do. "get the ship ready, we take off the second i get in." it something like a promise, the closest he can make now. he takes his blaster out from holster on his thigh, and nods at jyn. "go."

@vicioushope said: ugh, i think i got blood on my coat.

                    regardless of how much he tries , the galaxy pulls him back into its quarrels. has he not suffered enough ? the loss of his order , his purpose for believing. all of it was crushed by the fist of the empire. there was nowhere safe to call home anymore , it was wherever he could sleep for the night. any job lasts months at best. the grey streaks in his beard were signs of how long it has been since then , yet it didn't make the grief in his heart any easier. the rebellion , however , ignited that spark of hope in his chest which burned out long ago. as much as he tried , he couldn't stop himself from helping them where possible.

                    the victory over scariff echoed throughout the galaxy , only to be followed by the destruction of the death star. it caused him to question his purpose in the galaxy. was it better to stay hidden ? or did his duty as peacekeeper demand he returned to the fight fully ? he supposed it had been answered as he crouched behind cover with the rebel fighter , jyn erso. the rebellion had reached out to him , asking if he could aid in escorting jyn off-world with whatever intel she had on her. ❝ that's suicide.   ❞ a beat , completely oblivious to the irony of his comment. ❝ i'll just have to leave this world with you if it means ensuring you don't get yourself killed.   ❞ one hand hovers near the hilt hidden beneath his robes , his identity still kept secret from the rebels. he couldn't trust anyone , not even those claiming to do good. the idea of furthering himself in this rebel plan didn't sound ideal for him , but it appeared he didn't have a choice anymore. ❝ let me come with you ... please ?   ❞

          INSTANTANEOUSLY, TRISTAN SCOFFS, WRINKLING HIS SLENDER NOSE AND FROWNING AT JYN AS THOUGH HE’S NEVER BEEN MORE OFFENDED IN HIS LIFE.       it’s hardly relevant, of course, that asking for a loan is  exactly  why he’s here  -  or, at the very least, a significant part of the reason.  the very concept suddenly scandalizes him such that he appears to become a bit   HAUGHTY,   pressing out a  humph  and rolling his eyes with a modicum of sullen disdain.   (  just because she’s correct doesn’t mean he can’t be a bit insulted, right?  )   for a moment, he sits silently in his false indignation, jaw jutted outward, arms crossed over his chest, willing an  unpleasantness  into the air with every ounce of his might, until finally, he follows up.   ❝   I didn’t even ask you to lend me money,  so there.  and bold of you to assume I’d need it!  I’m doing perfectly fine and I certainly don’t need   YOUR   help.   ❞   a little weak, as responses go, even he can admit that.  another pause lingers before,   ❝   on an entirely unrelated and completely unrelated note,  do you like gambling,  because I feel like we should play some cards, bet some real credits  ...  could be fun!   ❞

                        ❝   what   do   you   drink?   ❞           the   question   comes   abruptly   as   he   enters   the   space;   cutting   through   the   silence.   between   his   hands,   he’s   carrying   a   drink   carrier   with   all   four   spaces   filled.   but   they   were   not   for   four   different   individuals   —   they   were   for   her   and   for   athan’s   experiment.